Stan: Chapter Two

Stan knew he had fucked up. Why had he gone hunting 2 nights in a row. That was just plain stupid. It didn't help that his last victim had been his next door neighbour. His mother had never left much of an impression on to him, but one thing had always stuck.

"Don't shit on your own door step."

Fuck it! If only he had been thinking of that one simple phase last night, maybe he wouldn't be in this mess.
Stan stared at the decapitated head sitting on his coffee table. The long blonde hair draping over the side, eyes wide, and the mouth forever open now. He wished that he hadn't done it...but by God he was glad that he had!
Her skin had been so soft to touch. He had spent hours after slicing her throat caressing and fucking her body. He wished he could do it all over again. Of course he would, but first he had to sort this mess out.
First of all he would have to look at moving away. He had done it before, he could do it again. He had no ties to this town, no job, no family. His house was on a short term lease, so no problem there. Would just need to find another place somewhere else.
He decided he would spend most of the day looking for a new house, maybe on the other side of the county. He would use the same story he had used before to explain his sudden move.

"New job. Great pay, wonderful benefits, and good hours. It was just too good to turn down."

Of course he didn't need a job. His Mother, after her death, had "left" him more then enough to live on without needing to work. To be honest Stan wasn't high maintenance. He lived a pretty modest life. He only bought what he needed. Didn't spend anything on anything flash. Low-key was always the order of the day.
Stan looked at the head once more on the table.

'Low-key till you, bitch' he thought to himself.

With a sudden burst of rage he struck out, kicking the head square in the face with the sole of his boot. Sending it flying across the room, bouncing to a stop in the corner. Stan knew as soon as his boot hit its face he regretted it. Sighing slightly he stood up and walked over to where the head had finally come to rest. Stooping down he carefully picked it up, turning it over in his hands so that it was facing him.
Beth's blue eyes glazed up at him. He smiled remembering the fun he had had with her. She hadn't known anything about it. He had told her to sit down, and he would make the coffee. She was talking to him, thinking he was in the kitchen instead of standing behind her when he had struck. Grasping her forehead he had pulled back, and with one simple, quick and strong motion, he had let his knife slice over her throat. He had sliced so deeply she was dead before she had hit the ground.
But because of her he would have to up sticks and move again. Which meant all of his trophies currently sitting in the freezer would have to go too. The sixteen currently in the freezer would have to be incinerated. His collection of nipples, body organs and more would be gone in one simple puff of smoke. His rage began to surface again. His hands gripped at the head harder. Placing his thumbs over the glassy eyes, he squeezed. He squeezed until there was a loud pop and the eyeballs seemed to resist no more. Blood ran down the cheeks, like dark red tears. Stan smiled. Almost chuckling.
He looked around his sitting room. He still had to tidy this mess first before he did anything. Having a headless corpse on the sofa really wasn't a talking point Stan wanted if anyone happened by.
Stan could feel a headache coming on. He enjoyed making the mess, but god damn he hated cleaning up after! He wondered if the yellow pages had a section for cleaners to clean this sort of thing up. Smiling at the thought he walked through to his kitchen and outside. It was almost dawn and there was a chill in the air. Opening up the shed, he picked up his axe and returned back inside. Stopping at the kitchen sink, he opened the cupboard and pulled out the black bags. Walking back into the living room he felt almost sad that he had to dispose of this body. He wanted to keep it. It was far too beautiful to be put in his chipper. But then again, his anus was far to beautiful to be ripped to shreds by some black man in prison.
He placed the bags and axe down on the floor and walked over to the skull again. Bloody tears still falling down its cheeks. Stan brushed the blonde hair out of the blood. Squeezing the cheeks alittle, he managed to get her tongue to stick out. Giggling, he placed the head on the mantle. He may have to burn his other trophies, but he started to think that he could keep this head.
Placing the body on the floor, he raised the axe above his head and started to chop. The white plastic he had put down under it turned a dark red quickly. Two arms and two legs separated. Each limb had its only triple bag. When bagging the girls torso, Stan went and got the trophies from the freezer. He couldn't burn them. Not after he had been to so much trouble to collect them. He fingered a few through the bags. With a sigh he placed them in the same bag as the torso. He could slice and dice them, the same as he had done to their original owners. Once he had chipped them, he would load them into his truck, and drive out to the woods. There he buried them, far from himself, and far from his mind. Once he had buried one of these bitches, he tended to forget about them. As if they never met. Almost as if they had never existed.
Tying the bags tight, he carried them one by one to the garage. He looked at the clock. 7am. He figured he might as well get this over with. He placed a large black sack over the choppers exit funnel, and started it up. One at a time he threw what remained of Beth into the chipper. Within ten minutes there was not much left over, other then some red pulp in a black sack. He would dispose of the sack later, when it was dark.
Walking back in be picked up the clothes he had carefully taken from her the night before. Walking down to the basement he opened the furnace and threw them in. Closing the furnace door, and flicking off the light, he returned to the sitting room. He started to scrub the pools of blood from the carpet and sofa. His back ached and he was tired. But knew he had to get it done. He made the mess, so he had to clean it up.
Forty five minutes later and he was done. He stretched and yawned. It had been a busy night. He decided he would have a nap, and then in a few hours sort something out about the new house, and arrange removal people to come and pack everything for him. He hated packing.
Walking past the mantle he picked up what remained of Beth. Tossing her head from hand to hand he walked slowly up the stairs. Throwing the head onto his bed, he slowly got underdressed. Stretching and nude, he picked up the head once more. He opened Beth's mouth slightly more, and pushed his cock into the opening. He forced the corpses head to perform this act upon himself before he shot his load into its dead mouth, and out of the opening where it's neck used to be.
He knew he shouldnt have killed again so early, and so close to home, but he was glad he had. And he knew he would do it again.

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Please, once again feedback would be great. Been so pleased with everyone's reaction, and I am open to ideas and critisim.